


Angel's Cry

by Lookafterlou1234



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And I'm Harry's, Couple Tattoo, Fallen Angels, Guardian Angels, I wrote this with my friend, Larry is my Otp, M/M, OT5, Tattoos, he's Louis' POV, okay, this is a reboot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lookafterlou1234/pseuds/Lookafterlou1234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"People always said accident-prone Louis must have a guardian angel. Otherwise, he'd be dead four times over. Little did they know that an angel was constantly looking after Louis. His guardian was Harry and honestly? He deserved some kind of medal for this job. </p><p>Except then Harry is cast out of Heaven for reasons he can't control, and now it's Louis' turn to look after Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> To those of you who have read this fic before, I'm revamping it XD I'm now writing it with my friend, because he recently started shipping Larry and is now obsessed. He's Louis' POV and I'm Harry's :)

Beep beep beep. 

Harry Styles jumped as the pager in his hand light up, flashing red. He stared down at, excitement coursing through his body. Was he getting a new assignment at last? It had been eons since Harry had had a human to guard. And he meant that literally. Literal eons had passed since Harry had been doing his duties as a guardian angel. He thought his stupid pager would never flash again. He'd spent years and years just doing random acts of kindness for the humans Down Below. He'd wondered what if he'd done anything wrong. All his human charges before the long lull of boredom had lived happy lives and died at the appropriate time. And they'd all made it Upstairs, so Harry considered himself a pretty successful guardian angel. 

His superiors had never said anything to him, so Harry just carried on going around the world and doing good. Helping little kids with scraped knees, rescuing cats from trees, helping old people across the street: you name it, Harry'd done it. He was just waiting for his next human. There was nothing Harry loved to do more than to watch his charges grow up and live happy lives. Often, he'd longed to show himself to them, but that was against the rules, He could only watch and intervene when absolutely necessary. 

But he assumed he'd get an new assignment eventually, and now it was happening. He had to focus right now. Harry looked at his pager, pushing his brown curls out of his eyes so he could read the tiny red print on it. 

NEW ASSIGNMENT  
LOCATION-DONCASTER, GREAT BRITAIN.  
YEAR- 1991  
MONTH- DECEMBER  
DAY- 24  
CHARGE- LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON

 

The angel grinned widely. Now this was where it got interesting. Harry tucked his elbows in at his sides and folded his white wings around himself, cocooning his body in feathers. He didn't want to have a rocky landing. He furrowed his brow and thought hard about where he needed to be. Angels have free reign over time and space, so if he didn't concentrate hard enough on where he wanted to end up, Harry could potentially pop up in Ancient Greece and scare the bejesus out of some Spartans. That'd certainly be one way to end the polytheistic religion. Do you have time to talk about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as I crash land into your statue of Zeus?

And he'd definitely crash. Harry had never been the best flier. He was just too tall. Harry was all long legs and knobby knees and elbows. Gravity wasn't on his side. And neither were directions. The other angels all teased him, saying he needed a compass. (Harry'd certainly thought about it.) 

TELEPORTING IN

3

Harry shut his eyes, feeling himself smile again. A new human! 

 

2

He tucked his chin into his chest, hoping to protect his neck. Believe it or not, angels could get whiplash. Or maybe it was just Harry. 

1

WHOOSH

 

When Harry next opened his eyes, he was inside a brightly light, white hospital room. A young woman was lying in the bed, looking pale and tired, but blissfully happy.  
"Congratulations, Mrs. Tomlinson! You have a perfect baby boy!" the doctor said, carrying the baby over to the woman and putting him in her arms. Harry swooped closer, peering in to get a better look at his new human. Thank goodness angels were invisible around humans. 

The baby was small, his eyes screwed shut. He was nestled into his mother's chest, a tiny hand on her shirt. Harry reached down and ghosted a hand across little Louis' forehead, sending some warmth into the baby's body.  
"Hi Louis." Harry breathed delightedly, his green eyes shining with happy tears. "I'm Harry. And I'm gonna look after you." 

 

 

Louis, more than anything, wanted someone to sing his song to. He wanted someone worth singing his song to. He wanted someone who would be as proud of it as he was. 

He wanted someone who would understand why it meant so much to him as well. The idea of it hadn't come to him under the best of circumstances, and he remembered the day he'd started writing it very clearly.

The day he'd thought of Strong, he had nearly died.

Not that that was something new for him. Louis had been nearly dying for as long as he could remember. When he was three, he'd fallen down the stairs and cracked his head open. He didn't remember much about that, being that he was young and he'd suffered a terrible head injurt, but he did remember knowing he had to stay awake. He didn't remember anyone in particular saying so, but he knew.

Two years later, he'd caught pneumonia and been stuck in the hospital for weeks. He couldn't remember much about that either; he remembered his doctor and nurses wondering how it had gotten so bad, his mother looking tired every day, the hospital TV playing the same movies over and over again. He remembered more than anything being bored when he had visitors and never being bored when there was no one around. He still wondered about that, because it seemed a bit backwards. Over the years, though, he'd decided it probably had something to do with an imaginary friend. Every kid had one; maybe he only talked to his when no one was around.

When he was ten, he'd been in a car accident. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt and he'd been riding shotgun, so if he had died that day, it would have been due to pure stupidity. When the collision happened, he was thrown through the windshield. Through it! Somehow, though, he hadn't been scared. He didn't even remember hitting the pavement particularly hard; he hadn't broken anything, and he didn't have nearly as many bruises as you'd think someone who went through a windshield would have. Besides cuts from the glass, he was fine. That he hadn't yet found an explanation for, other than he must be very, very lucky.

The fourth and final time he'd nearly died, he was fifteen. This was, yet again, a result of his own stupidity. There was a small lake not far from his house, and it was earlier winter so it had frozen over. He'd decided that walking on it without anyone to spot him would be loads of fun. 

He had fallen through the ice. Big surprise.

It had been so cold, any air in his lungs had stuck in his throat and before he could tell himself it was a bad idea he was sucking in the dark, icey water in a sad attempt to find air. He couldn't see the hole he'd made when he'd fallen through. All he saw was black; he didn't know which way was up and which was down. Not that it mattered. His limbs felt like they had bricks tied to them. Even if he'd known which was to swim to get out of the water, he wouldn't be able to.

The water in his lungs burned and choked him but he couldn't stop sucking it in. His head had begun spinning and he knew consciousness was abandoning him. This is it, he'd thought to himself, I am going to die.

Nearly as soon as he'd thought it, though, something changed. Something changed drastically.

His skin felt...warm. So warm and so suddenly it hurt. It burned. He didn't have long to dwell on it before it became comfortable. He relaxed; he no longer cared that he was dying. If this was what dying felt like, he'd welcome it with open arms.

Then he saw the surface of the lake. He saw the hole he'd made when he fell. He didn't remembering turning himself around; didn't remember moving at all, really. So why was the sky getting so much closer...?

He was out of the water. At the edge of the lake. 

His lungs ached when he breathed and his head spun but he still felt warm. His skin was tingling in a way that was getting closer to unpleasant by the second, but he didn't mind.

He hadn't drowned

How had he not drowned?

He looked around, the world spinning around him as he did. Someone must have pulled him out of the water; he didn't have anything to do with that. Alone, he would have drowned.

He didn't see anyone. 

After trudging home that night and avoiding any of the estrogen bombs that he lived with, he sat on his bed and thought. Maybe he just couldn't remembering swimming to the surface. Maybe the water and gotten in his ears and temporarily turned off the part of his brain that collected memories. That wouldn't explain why he'd felt so warm and safe, though.

"I need you," popped out of his mouth before he could think about how weird it was to say something like that. There was no one to say it to. 

Weirdly, though, he felt like someone heard. Like someone was listening. So, he kept going, saying just one more thing before getting under his blankets and falling asleep,

"You make me strong."

He'd begun writing Strong as soon as he woke up the next morning. It had taken him years to finish it, but that didn't matter; he realized music was what he wanted to do with his life after writing the chorus and singing it to himself until it sounded right. He couldn't imagine pursuing any other career. He felt like nothing could be wrong in the world when he was singing. It was a feeling all together magical.

Even more magical, though, would be to find someone to tell him he was good at what he loved to do. Someone outside of his family. He hadn't found that person yet, but he remained hopeful. Someone out there had to be a fan of his. He just had to find them.

 

 

Harry was going to lose his fucking mind. 

If Louis Tomlinson almost died one more time, Harry's brain was going to melt in his head and leak out of his ears. He'd guarded countless humans through the years, but not a single one had been as unlucky as Louis. This kid seemed to get into a life-threatening situation every two minutes! At least, that's what it felt like to his guardian angel.

Harry supposed that some of the incidences hadn't been Louis' fault. Cracking his head open as a toddler was something he couldn't help. But God, Harry was never going to forget how scared he'd been that day. After three years of no accidents, Louis was in danger for the first time, and Harry had to act.

The guardian angel had swooped down to wooden basement stairs Louis had slipped down and scooped the child up in his arms. The little boy was unconscious, blood seeping out of a wound on his head. It covered his whole face, running down his cheeks like tears.

"You're okay you're okay you're okay you're okay you're okay you're okay." Harry gasped, his hands wiping the blood away from Louis' face. "It's gonna be okay it's gonna be okay it's gonna be okay it's gonna be okay it's gonna be okay it's gonna be okay."

He gently laid Louis on the step and bolted up the stairs, rapping loudly on the door, hoping that Louis' mother would come and help. He dashed back to the boy's side, putting his hands on his shoulders.  
"Louis, stay strong. Stay strong for me." he said urgently, knowing Louis could hear him somehow. Guardian angels have a strange bong with their charges, and Louis was, by far, the most receptive to Harry's presence. 

Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to Louis' forehead, sending some of his grace into the boy. He couldn't heal him completely, that was against the rules, but Harry'd be damned if he couldn't do something. And then he slipped away as Louis' mother arrived at the scene, his wings feeling like they couldn't hold him up. 

Some while later, Louis was lying in a hospital bed, his eyes sliding closed. Harry was perched on the window still, and he titled his head, considering. Swallowing his fear, Harry concentrated. Suddenly, in a rush of light and sound, Harry was in his physical form. He folded his wings against his back and then moved to Louis' side, gripping his tiny hands.  
"Stay awake, do you hear me, Lou? You cannot sleep right now. I know you're tired, and I know it hurts, and I know you want to let to, but you can't sleep."  
The boy nodded, his eyes out of focus. He widened them and sat up, trying to stay awake. Harry tenderly brushed his sweaty fringe off his forehead. He hummed a tune under his breath to try and soothe Louis. 

Harry knew how risky this was. Anybody could walk by and see him sitting there, Louis in his arms. But he didn't care. This was the first time he'd properly touched Louis, felt his skin against his own, felt Louis' breath tickling his chin, felt the soft thump-thump of his heart. Harry never wanted to let his boy go. 

They sat up the whole night together, Louis nestled into Harry's warm side. Neither of them spoke a word. Harry knew Louis wouldn't remember this, or that even if he did, it'd be brushed aside as the ramblings of an injured toddler. But some deep part of Harry wished that Louis would remember him. Everyone, even angels, wants to be remembered, especially by the one who matters most. 

 

The next time Louis almost died, it wasn't his fault again. Two years after his first accident, he'd gotten pneumonia, and had spent two long weeks in the hospital. Harry had been by his side the whole time, watching The Lion King, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and The Rescuers over and over. It got the the point where both Louis and Harry could quote each movie nearly perfectly. Louis started to pretend he had an imaginary friend, so Harry gladly went along. They "played" checkers, squished Play-Dough, and built card houses. Harry would have to vanish everytime other people arrived though, much to his and Louis' chagrin. Louis because he was bored, Harry because he couldn't bear to be away. 

After an exhausting two weeks, Louis had recovered and was back to his normal routine. This whole experience had been less stressful on Harry than the first one, but he still kept at eye on Louis, anticipating the next disaster. Which would undoubtedly come.

And soon enough, it did. This time around, it was sort of Louis' fault. Like, what ten year old thinks it's okay to sit in the front of the car? Common sense advised against it, as well as the actual rules of driving. And he wasn't wearing a seatbelt! Seriously, no Seatbelt. Harry had been so angry at that, he almost hadn't caught Louis as he flew through the window because of pure rage. 

As it was, Harry had barely made it in time. He'd just been flying along behind the car as it cruised through the windy streets of Doncaster. Suddenly, a truck rounded the corner and collided with Louis' side of the car. Harry felt the tremor of it beneath him and his heart dropped down to his feet.  
"Oh no, you don't." Harry said grimly, tucking his wings in and bombing down to the collision. He caught Louis by his arms and turned in mid-air, pulling the boy back against his chest and folding his wings around the both of them. Harry hit the ground, his back taking all the impact. He screamed in pain, feeling feathers rip out of his wings. Every feather lost felt like a stab into Harry's spine. 

The angel rolled over and placed Louis on the ground, brushing broken glass off his human charge. He'd only have a few scrapes and bruises out of this disaster, thank God. Harry stood up on shaky legs as paramedics came running out of an ambulance towards the crash. He turned away from Louis and examined his reflection in a puddle of rainwater in the ground. 

One of his white wings was bent back, losing feathers with every moment, Golden blood, the blood of angels, ran in rivers down Harry's back and he took a few deep breaths.  
"He's more important." He told himself. "Remember the vow you took when you became a guardian. The human comes first."  
Harry turned his back on his reflection and looked back at Louis. He was being examined by paramedics, who all seemed baffled. Louis was sitting up and talking. He seemed bewildered and shaken, but unhurt.  
"It doesn't make sense!" one paramedic muttered to another. "He was thrown through the window. For a boy his size and the force of the impact, he should be dead! It doesn't add up."  
"He must have a guardian angel or something." 

Harry stifled a laugh. They'd never have any idea. 

 

Okay, now Harry was pissed. 

Five years had gone by since Louis's last near-death experience. Five lovely, less stressful years. It was Louis' longest streak yet! And then he'd gone and fucking ruined it by deciding to go for an impromptu ice skate. They'd been walking along together through the snow, Harry's feet skimming the ground. Louis had a stick in his hand and he was tapping it against the trees, kicking the banks of snow as he walked. He paused, and Harry saw the frozen pond just as Louis did.  
"Don't even think about it, Tomlinson."  
But because he's Louis, and he seemed to love making Harry have aneurysms, he ran over to the ice and stepped onto it. He whirled around on his heels, throwing his head back and laughing. Despite the danger he was in, Louis' face light up with joy and his blue eyes sparkled. Harry felt his heart swell with fondness as he looked at him, even though he was being so, so stupid. 

And then, just like that, the ice cracked underneath Louis' feet and he was thrashing around in the water. He choked on a mouthful of water and his head slipped under. Louis' thoughts were so loud, Harry could hear them.  
"I am going to die." 

Harry didn't even pause to think. He dove right in after him, because Louis was an idiot who didn't think of consequences and that seemed to be rubbing off on Harry.  
"Not if I have anything to do with it, you're not." 

Harry swam towards his human and wrapped his arms around his waist. Louis' body was so cold already. Harry knew if he stayed in the water much longer, he'd go into shock and then never get out. He shut his eyes and let his grace surround them, keeping Louis warm. Harry kicked with all his strength and flapped his wings, getting them to the surface of the water. Harry heaved Louis out and then sat beside him in the snow, thumping his back to get any excess water out of it and sending more warmth into Louis. 

Awhile later, Louis stood up and looked around him, a confused expression on his face. Obviously, he was wondering how he survived that little stunt, given that he would've drowned if he'd been alone. He gave one more look around the clearing and then walked home, his head bowed. Harry didn't follow him right away as he normally would because he was just too upset. 

How did Louis possibly think that was okay? Did he realize how much he just put his life in danger? How much it would hurt people if he died? How much everyone loved him? How much Harry loved-

No. 

That was against the rules. 

Harry gave himself a rough shake and rushed after Louis. He'd probably been mauled by wild dogs on the walk home or something. 

Inside his room that night, Louis seemed restless. He paced the length of his floor, his hands behind his back. And then he looked up. Right at where Harry was sitting, cross-legged, on his bookshelf. That had to be a coincidence, right?  
"I need you." Louis said suddenly, looking nervous. 

Harry sat very still. His heart was pounding against his ribs. Did Louis know Harry was there? That was impossible! Humans could only see angels if the angels wished it, not the other way around! Louis huffed out a breath and climbed into his bed, getting under the covers.  
"You make me strong." he mumbled as he fell alseep.  
Harry hovered down and stood beside Louis' bed. He brushed the fifteen year old's messy fringe back from his forehead, feeling all his anger ebb away. He couldn't stay angry at Louis. It was like trying to stay angry at a puppy. 

Harry sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He glanced at Louis' sleeping form. He looked so beautiful in the moonlight, peaceful and open. The angel felt a smile play at his lips and he bit his cheek, trying to force it away.  
"Louis," he said quietly, "Please know that if you ever pull a stunt like today's again, I'll kill you myself."


	2. Chapter 2

Three years later, Louis got his first tattoo in his best friend's garage. He could have had it done professionally (he was old enough to do that now, which he liked to boast), but Zayn had sworn he could do it faster, better, and for less money.

He was on the floor, Zayn cross-legged next to him, working on getting the tattoo on his arm, while Liam (Zayn's "friend") asked why he was getting the tattoo he was getting.

"Of all the things," he was saying, "why this?"

Louis' shrugged, earning himself a glare of Zayn. "It's funny. I'm a funny guy."

"There's nothing funny about it," Liam countered as he came closer to admire Zayn's work in progess.

It was plenty funny as far as Louis' was concerned. Simple, yet effective. It was a little stickman riding, or, trying to ride a skateboard. It was meant to look like he was falling (a tribute to Louis' magnetic attraction to accidents); hopefully Zayn would do it right. Otherwise, Liam would be right, it wouldn't be funny, and he couldn't have that.

"Keep your lack of humor to yourself," he said eventually. Liam seemed to give up; he sat back down at the other end of the garage again and watched for afar.

Zayn wasn't particularly talkative, especially when he was working, and Louis and Liam were done with bantering (for the moment) so the garage fell into silence.

When it did, Louis' was left with the uneasy feeling he'd had since deciding to get the tattoo. It settled in his stomach and his chest, making every breath uncomfortable. He felt like he was doing something that he should not, under any circumstances, be doing. Like he was ruining something good by it. Which didn't make sense to him, because it wasn't a big deal.

It was just for fun. Just a little joke scratched into his skin.

So why did he feel so bad about it? He didn't want to feel bad about it; _it was funny_.

"I need a drink," he announced to break the silence and to pull himself out of his head.

Zayn had finished up while Louis was lost in thought, and he was cleaning off his tools of the trade. "Me too." He sounded exhausted; he could handle Louis alone, and Liam alone, but put them in one room and you're want to tear your hair out after three minutes.

Liam had nothing against going for a drink (he'd go anywhere Zayn went, honestly), so the three walked out of the garage together and made their way to their local bar.

***  
Louis regretted ever suggesting they go out after half an hour and too many drinks on Liam and Zayn's part. They were sitting at the end of the bar, on top of each other (quite literally), doing things that he never, ever wanted to see them do again. Too much tongue. Very sloppy. Ew.

He felt incredibly lonely, sitting there. He wished he had someone to sit on when he got drunk. But in a less sloppy way because, again: ew.

 

Harry sat beside Louis in the smoky, darkly-light pub. He drummed his fingers on the table, resting his other hand on his chin and looking around. He glanced at the drink, half-empty, in front of Louis. It was a fruity pink concoction, complete with a yellow umbrella stuck in it. He wondered the alcohol content in that and hoped, for Louis' sake, that he wasn't the designated driver tonight. Harry did not feel up to saving any lives today. He was jittery and all his bones ached. The underside of his left arm had a strange burning in it, which was weird. Even Harry's wings hurt, as if he was feeling those ripped out feathers from eight years ago all over again.

Louis have a deep sigh, rolling his eyes at his two friends' intimacy. Harry smiled crookedly at his human and then looked back at...what were their names again? Oh yeah, Zayn and Liam. (And seriously, where were either of their guardian angels? Whoever they were, they never seemed to be around. Harry had half a mind to report them to the angels' superiors.)

Liam was perched on Zayn's lap, his hands around the other boy's neck. Both their eyes were shut as they kissed. Zayn's arms wrapped around Liam's waist, pulling him closer until their chests brushed. Liam bumped his nose against Zayn's and they giggled breathlessly at each other before their lips met again.  
"You do realize that I am right here, do you not?" Louis said loudly. "Do you have no shame?"  
No response, unless you count the sound of spit being swapped.  
"For fuck's sake." Louis sighed, taking a gulp of his drink.  
Harry wasn't as annoyed as Louis by his friends. He was always interested in how humans showed affection to each other, and how it changed over the years. In Victorian times, a woman couldn't be seen alone with a man. And here they were, a century and a half later, and two boys could show how they cared for each in public. Even though they were drunk and "just friends." It was beautiful, really. Harry didn't think he'd ever get tired of watching humans.

Zayn's hands moved down to grip the small of Liam's back. Harry felt a blush spread over his face, wondering if it was time to look away. So he turned and looked at Louis.

Big mistake.

Louis' blue eyes were glazed over, the pupils blown bigger from tiredness. His lips were red and swollen from biting at them, and his hair was mussed back all the times he'd ran his hands through it. Suddenly, so fast he couldn't tell himself it was wrong, Harry had a vivid mental image of Louis sitting ontop of him, those cornflower blue eyes inches away from Harry's green ones. Louis' plump lips were slotted against his own, dragging and pulling and nipping with his teeth. And Harry's hands were in Louis' sweaty, messy hair, his fingers gripping it into knots. Louis moaned into Harry's mouth and ground his hips down and-

Harry exhaled a slow breath, gripping his knees. He felt a peculiar hardness in his groin area and he shook his head vehemently. Harry knew enough about human anatomy to know that this Was Not A Good Thing. This was- this was sin!  
"Nope." Harry said aloud to the air. "That- is certainly not happening. Nope."

Beside him, Louis laughed lowly, noticing his empty glass.  
"Well, if you two are still occupied over there, I'm going to get myself another mojito." he called to Zayn and Liam.

Louis stood and Harry followed, desperately trying to cool the hotness of his cheeks. Louis waltzed over to the bar, leaning against it and looking at the menu. The bartender came over, putting a hand towel over his shoulder.  
"A strawberry mojito, please." Louis said breathlessly. "And make it extra strong, if you don't mind. I'd like to be pleasantly hammered into oblivion."  
The bartender, a tall guy with shaggy black hair and big hipster glasses, grinned at Louis and winked.  
"Anything for you, lovely."  
Louis' head snapped up and he stared at the bartender in shock.  
"What?" the man asked with a laugh as he fixed Louis' drink for him.  
"I-uh- I....I um-I don't- you- excuse me?" Louis stammered, his eyes huge.  
The bartender laughed again, his eyes bright. Harry scowled at him. Was he making fun of Louis? That wouldn't be on, at all.

"You're lovely."

Oh.

_Oh_.

This was much worse than if he'd been making fun of Louis. Much worse. Harry kinda wanted to fling himself out the window with his wings tucked in. It'd feel better than whatever he was feeling right now. He couldn't find a name for it, but whatever it was, it sucked. His fists clenched together and he gritted his teeth, trying to get a hold of himself.

Louis blushed a violent shade of pink, looking down at his feet and scuffling them from side to side.  
"What's your name?"  
"Louis." he replied meekly.  
"Lovely Louis it is, then."  
Louis stared at the man, getting redder by the second. Harry's newest worst enemy chuckled and reached over to shake his hand as he handed Louis the mojito with the other.  
"I'm Steven." he said breezily. "Bartender extraordinaire, uni student, and person who'd be chuffed to get your number."  
"I-ah-umm-er I just-"

Harry lost it. He reached out and slammed his hand against the glass, tipping it backwards. and splashing it all over "Steven." The pink drink got all over his stupid glasses and his stupid black shirt and his stupid face and seriously, did this little shit think he worked at Starbucks? Harry felt a grin of satisfaction spread across his cheeks as he saw the look of surprise cross the bartender's face. He'd needed to cool down a little, right?

"I'm so sorry!" Louis gasped out, his hands fluttering around like birds. "I don't know how that happened- it was like it appeared out of nowhere- oh god and you were being flirty with me _of all people_ and now you must hate me and I-"  
Steven wiped his face with the towel on his shoulder and shook his head.  
"Louis, it's a hazard of the job. Drunk people, liquids, slippery floors: it happens."

Louis deflated and Harry sank with him. Of course Louis would feel bad about this, even though it wasn't his fault at all and of course Steven had to be so nice about it.

"Besides, I've got another shirt in the back I can change in to. Maybe you'd like to help me with that?"

Annndddd there goes the nice. Harry hated him again. Harry crossed his fingers together in desperation. He wasn't going to interfere anymore, so now it was up to Louis.

_Please say no._

_Please say no._

_Please say no._

Luckily, salvation came in the form of Zayn and Liam. They sauntered over to the bar, their mouths rubbed red and raw. Liam threw an arm around Louis' shoulders, mumbling drunkenly against his back. Zayn seemed almost comatose from how much he'd drank, stumbling around like a zombie.

"Better not." Louis said with a regretful smile. "I've got to get these two a taxi cab before I walk home."

"Alright." Steven said, sounding disappointed. "Maybe some other time, then."

Harry bobbed behind the three friends as they left the bar, Louis trying to reign Liam and Zayn in.  
"No, Zayn, don't hump the plastic dog, children put coins in there for the poor- nope, you've gone and done it anyway."  
"Liam, nobody wants to see your kidney scar, please don't take your trousers off."

But as they were at the door, Steven came running up behind them. He pulled Louis around by the shoulder and stared at him.  
"Here," he said, handing Louis a a napkin. "Don't lose this."  
"Uh- thank you?"  
"I know you think I just randomly handed you a used napkin, but there's some digits on there that I'd like you to have."  
"I- _Oh_."  
"Yes, oh." he said with another suggestive wink and Harry wanted to strangle him. "I'll see you around, Lovely Louis."

Again, Harry felt that same feeling as before. But he had a name for it now.

Jealousy.

Jealousy so swift and strong, it took his breath away. His blood pumped in his veins and he tensed all his muscles, wanting to scream. This shouldn't be happening. This Steven asshat was looking at Louis like he was Christmas and his birthday together. Like the sky was blue and the sun shone because Louis Tomlinson breathed. Like he was the only thing that mattered. Steven should not be looking at Harry's human like _that_ after only knowing him for ten minutes.

If anyone deserved to look at Louis Tomlinson like that, it was Harry Styles. He had been with Louis through every heartache, every bump and scratch and bruise. Every tear shed, every knee scraped. Harry knew everything about him, how he had dimples in his cheeks and the small of his back. How his laughter rang out like all of Harry's favorite songs. How his eyes crinkled together when he smiled for real, and how they didn't when he faked it.

After depositing an inebriated Liam and Zayn into a taxi, Louis waked home, his head bowed against the wind and his jacket turned up at the collar. Harry went alongside him, unable to take his eyes off Louis.

Harry certainly wanted to look at Louis like that. But he wanted Louis to look at him the same way even more. In all his years of being a guardian angel, Harry found himself wishing something he'd never wished before. Something no angel should ever wish for.

_I wish I was a human too._


	3. Chapter 3

That night, as Louis slept, Harry felt even worse than before. He was shaky and cold, shivering despite the warmth of Louis' bedroom. He unfurled his wings and wrapped them around himself, tucking his chin in and resting it on his chest. Harry coughed, shutting his eyes. There was a steady drumming in his temples: a _thud thud thud_ that seemed to match his heartbeat. His left arm still burned too. Harry lifted up his arm and glanced at it, tugging up his shirt sleeve.

The skin of his tricep was fiery red and hot to the touch. Harry gently pressed his fingers to the area and then hissed in pain, his teeth clenched together. If he looked closely enough, he could see a shadowy mark appearing there, one that had never been there before.  
"What's in store for me now?" Harry groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "Seriously. Isn't Louis hard enough to manage? Now do I have some kind of angelic bubonic plague?"

At his words, his skin burned even more and Harry felt a few hot tears slip down his cheeks. It felt like an iron was being pressed against him. Unrelenting and smoldering and agonizing. He bowed over at the waist and tried to take steady breaths. His arm was stinging , like it's been stung by some kind of demonic scorpion. He stared at it again, and saw a black star fully appear on his skin. It was perfectly symmetrical, like it'd been branded on him. Harry wrinkled his forehead and looked closer, wondering how this had happened. The pain was lessening now, but the angel was still wary. He held his arm far away from his side and thought. What could've made this happen?

In his sleep, Louis turned on his side and whimpered as he laid on his newly tattooed arm. Harry rushed over and gently shifted him, resting Louis' arm down on the duvet. He studied the image on Louis, a tiny stick man riding a skateboard. Harry put his arm next to Louis' and bit down on his lip in worry.

Their arms looked eerily similar now. Same size of tattoo, same color ink, nearly in the same place on their bodies. Like somebody wanted Louis and Harry to match each other.

But that shouldn't happen! That never happened! Angel weren't even allowed tattoos: they were strictly prohibited. For angels, getting a tattoo was the highest insult. They were meant to be perfectly happy with the vessels they were given and not go about altering them in any way. But that wasn't given fair, because Harry didn't even want this tattoo. He hadn't asked for it or longed for it or anything.

But....he had longed for something else, not too long ago. Or, more accurately, someone else.

"Is this a punishment?" Harry asked out loud. "Because I wanted something I can't have, you gave me something that I _really_ can't have?"

Harry looked at his tattoo again, running his fingertips over the black ink. He looked up at the ceiling wondering what was happening Upstairs. Hoping they weren't too mad at him for this. Hoping they knew it wasn't his fault.

Obviously, Harry hoped wrong.

In mere seconds, Harry was transported up. He couldn't fight it, and he knew he definitely shouldn't try. Harry opened his wings and hoped they'd catch him, wherever he ended up.

***

Harry hadn't been back Upstairs since Louis was born eighteen years ago, but the place hadn't changed much. Every angel's perception of their headquarters was different. Some saw a beach, or a library, or a forest, or a mountain. Some angels even had different views everytime they were there. But for Harry, it'd always been the same. He saw a stage. He stood in the center, looking out at the twinkling lights of the audience of angels before him. Three of his Superiors sat in the front: tall, imposing beings with severe faces and judging eyes. They were centuries older than Harry. These angels had been around before existence was even concrete. They'd worked too hard for the world to be the way it has now, and they weren't going to let that get taken away. They were the highest authority Harry knew, and judging by their scowls, they weren't too happy to see him.

"Angel Styles," the first one to the right said, her voice high and reedy. "Do you know why you have been brought here today, before all the other angels?"  
"No, Ma'am." he said respectfully, looking down at his feet. His heart was hammering painfully against his rib cage. What was going to happen to him? As far as Harry knew, he'd done nothing wrong!

Would they throw him out of Heaven?

Keep him from protecting Louis?

Remove his wings?

The female angel pursed her lips together, looking at her two other companions. The one in the middle stood up and unrolled a scroll. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud,  
"Angel Styles, you are here on trial for the following accusations: Being too emotionally involved with your human charge. Putting yourself in danger for aforementioned charge who was making reckless decisions. Appearing in physical form to your charge. Forming emotional and -ahem- _physical_ emotions for your charge. Defacing your vessel with a vulgar obscenity. And finally, wishing to lessen yourself and leave your post as a guardian-"

"Wait!" Harry protested. "This tattoo wasn't my fault, it just appeared! And most of those things happened years ago. Why are they being brought up now? It didn't do any harm! Nobody saw me appear to Louis that time, and I'm fine from when I fell, and I'm over him making dumb decisions like almost drowning and-"

"Your testimony is not needed, Angel Styles." the final angel said sternly. "You were not brought here to defend yourself from these accusations. You are to be punished."  
Too more angels appeared behind Harry and grabbed his arms, holding them behind his back. They dragged him over to a post on the floor beside the stage, forcing him down to his knees.  
"Stop!" Harry cried. "Please stop, I was just trying to protect him-"  
"Your punishment is fifty lashes and then immediate removal."

Harry's wings were roughly tied down at his sides, leaving his back bare and exposed. The female angel came up behind Harry with a whip, gripping it tightly. He wasn't even given any time to brace himself. _Crack_! The whip was brought down on Harry's back and he screamed out, digging his nails into his palms. It came down again and Harry felt tears burn his eyes, knowing he wouldn't make it through fifty of these conscious. Or maybe even alive.

Around the fifth whipping, Harry felt blood stream down his back.

At the fifteenth, blackness ringed his vision and he rested his chin against the rough wood of the post he was tied to.

By the twentieth, Harry was basically out of it. He forced his mind to take him away, somewhere else, anywhere else. So Harry thought about the one thing that had occupied his brain for nearly two decades.

Harry thought about Louis.

Harry thought about how Louis sang like the birds of the summer and now he cried everytime he watched _A Walk to Remember._ He thought about how Louis loved his mother and sisters with every thing he had. He thought about when Louis's dad left him when he was little and now the boy had cried himself to sleep for weeks but never told his mum. He thought about Louis playing Danny Zuko in his secondary's school's production of Grease this past school year. Harry thought about Louis realizing he was gay and remembering how proud he'd been of his boy.

And by the fiftieth lash, Harry was smiling.

The angel was untied from the post and heaved up to his feet, forced to stand. Every movement was agony but he pushed through it, doing his best to remain conscious. Lou Lou Lou Lou Lou Lou his brain whispered. Lou. That was a new one. He'd never called Louis that before, but he liked it.  
"Angel Styles, you are herby removed of your duties as Guardian Angel." a chorus of voices said around him, their faces all swimming together.

With that, Harry's vision went black and he lost sense of what was happening around him. His limbs crumpled and he went with them. The last thing Harry knew was that he was falling down. And he knew he had to end up somewhere, so he made himself throw one last thought out, hoping it would take him somewhere safe.

_Please take me home._

 

 

For Louis, it was supposed to be a good day. By good, he meant _normal_. He was going to stay home, drink tea, sing to himself because he loved listening to himself, maybe watch a chick-flic, and weed his garden. _Normal_ things.

The day had started out alright, he guessed. He'd rolled out of bed before twelve and made himself breakfast (nothing fancy, of course; Louis wouldn't even try to pretend he knew how to cook). He'd watched cartoons (hold the judgement, he was a child at heart), and then gotten into the shower. His hair was still wet at the ends when he'd gone out to his garden, but he didn't mind. It'd dry quickly enough in the sun.

He had just gotten around to planting a new row of poppies (because, why not) when it suddenly got cloudy. He looked around, confused, and promptly became even more confused, because it was only cloudy over him.

_Why_ , he thought to himself, _just why?_

He didn't notice the boy until he was obliterating his garden.

Before Louis could say _hallelujah_ , there was a mess of curly hair and gangly limbs on the ground in front of him. On top of his flowers. Whoever this was had fallen...quite literally...from the sky...and was laying on...his garden. _What_.

"Oops," the boy was groaning as he tried to shift himself out of the planting zone. He didn't get very far before giving him and making sheepish eye contact with Louis.

And, oh, _wow_ , eye contact, such a simple mundane thing, had never made Louis feel warmer. "Oh, hi," he said back, his voice lacking the shock you'd think it'd be heavy with after someone randomly fell from who-knows-where. He was too focused on the boy's eyes; they were the _quintessence_ of green eyes, the perfect clichè. Like spring, but on mute, like moss, like emeralds, like the stems of his flowers, which the boy was currently flopped upon. Louis truly couldn't bring himself to care.

Those eyes were captivating and looking into them felt like going home after a long, exhausting trip.

"I've ruined your garden," the boy said mournfully, his eyes going skyward and his lips turning down at the corners.

_Something about his voice_ , Louis thought to himself, _is making me wish I could drown myself in it. Oh, wow_.

He looked at the boy for a moment, his mouth open, trying to think of something to say back. Something punny, something witty. Something that would take some of the weird out of the air.

He could think of nothing.

The silence gave him time to look, though, and when he did, he noticed that mixed in with the brown of the squished dirt and the green of the broken flower stems, was red. And not solid red, like poppy leaves, but liquid red, like something broken.

It fully hit him then that the boy in front of him had literally _fallen from the sky._

" _Are you okay?"_ Louis gasped, his hands fluttering in the air in front of him because he wasn't sure what exactly to do with them.

_What the hell am I supposed to do It's Raining Men didn't ever prepare me for an actual man-shower?!_

The boy was opening his mouth to explain and Louis was already on his feet. "Wait right here," he gasped before hurrying away. _Oh, yeah, as if he can go anywhere by himself_. He peeked into his house through the back door and didn't see anyone, which was rare. When you've got a handful of estrogen bombs in the house, rooms were hardly ever empty.

Luck must be on his side today, though (or something like luck that would allow him to sneak a random boy into the house), because the path from the door to his bedroom was clear. He hurried back to Curly (god, his curls are adorable), and crouched down next to him.

"Can you stand...? God, don't answer that, of course you can't. I'll help." The only problem with that being that Curly was about ten feet tall and Louis was about three, maybe three and a half. _Doesn't matter, I've got to get him inside before I lose him_ , Louis thought, right before asking himself, _Lose him to what? What's he going to do, run away?_

Did Louis even have a good reason to stop him if he tried?

Curly managed to get himself propped up on his elbows on his own, but Louis noticed even that seemed to give him hell. _Please just don't pass out; I won't be able to get you in if you pass out_. It wasn't hard to get him sitting up once he was elavated though, and the next hardest thing to do was to get him on his knees, then to get the ground underneath him. Curly seemed to be trying to avoid as much of Louis' help as possible, though, like he didn't want to be a bother. Like he was used to helping and not being helped.

As soon as Louis got him on his feet, one of his arms (his arms and legs seemed to stretch on for miles, it was absolutely ridiculous) hung loosely around Louis' shoulders, Curly's eyes fluttered shut. Then he got _really_ heavy.

Louis barely managed to get him through the damn door; how was he supposed to get him through the rest of the house? Let alone without anyone seeing?

"Lou..."

He jumped at the sound of his name, thinking, _oh good, that's it, I've done it now someone's seen me and how am I supposed to explain Curly the Giant_ , and then he realized...oh. First of all, that wasn't close to being a girl's voice, and second of all, he could feel the breath it took to say it move his hair.

_Had he told Green Eyes his name?_

He must have. It didn't matter; if he was talking, he was awake. "Hey. Hey, stay awake for me, okay, and then you can sleep it off. How's it feel falling from the sky, huh? I bet it's insane," he was babbling as he slowly moved the Green Eyed Giant towards his room, but he thought if he kept talking, he'd keep the guy awake.

Louis' hand on Curly's back felt warm and sticky and wet, and he couldn't wait to have a look at what was wrong. At the same time, though, he wasn't sure he wanted to see.

"I mean, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Louis asked, a frantic giggle escaping his throat. _Why is he bleeding so much oh my god what happened to him who hurt him if I ever find them I swear I'll-_

Did he have a good reason to be so angry over whatever had happened to Curly?

"Just a little bit," Curly groaned as Louis pushed his bedroom door open. He stumbled Curly over to the bed, and tried setting him down gently, but they fell funny and Louis' weight went on top of Curly's and Curly was on his back and oh god-

"As a matter of fact," Curly ground out as he gently moved Louis off him and turned so he was stomach-down, "it hurt a lot."

Curly's back was covered in scourge marks. Deep, angry, criss-crossing, bleeding marks. Louis felt that anger, that _hatred_ , again, briefly, before shoving it away. That didn't matter right now. What mattered was Curly had dirt and flower petals caught in all that blood, and that just _screamed_ infection.

Louis ran to get a few warm, wet clothes, and then a few more dry clothes. He'd put rubbing alcohol on those and disinfect and...he had no idea what he was doing.

_I should start watching more medical dramas_ , he thought as he went back into his room and locked the door behind him, _so the next time a boy falls in my lap, I'll know what to do if he's bleeding._

Curly seemed to be asleep when Louis crawled over his legs and onto the bed; not passed out, but asleep. He wasn't sure what the difference was, expect for that this didn't alarm him like he thought another round of passing out would.

Good. Good, maybe Curly would have the energy to talk to him once he woke up.

Louis had never been particularly good with his hands- he didn't like shop class, wasn't the best artist. He had a handful of sisters, but they hadn't taught him to be gentle with fragile things or tiny things or vulnerable things. Louis was particularly gentle when he touched the boy in front of him, though. Like one wrong move would shatter him. Like he'd be taken away if he pressed too hard on the red caverns in his skin.

Despite how wrecked Curly looked, Louis couldn't help but think he was beautiful. When he got most of the blood washed away, he saw that his skin was otherwise completely unmarked. Flawless, except for one thing Louis noticed when he was tossing the dirty cloths into his trashcan. Curly had a tattoo on the underside of his left arm. A star, its lines perfectly straight and even. _That's funny_ , he thought, considering Curly seems to have fallen from heaven. _That is a funny tattoo. Even Liam would laugh, probably._

The sting from the rubbing alcohol woke Curly up; his head was turned to the side, so Louis could see his eyes were open. He didn't complain about the pain, though. He didn't say anything at all. Now that Curly was fully conscious, he looked absolutely horrified, as if he'd done something he shouldn't have. _And he must have to end up looking like he did now._

He also looked amazed, in a good way, which Louis liked. He liked the way it made Curly's eyes wide. He liked the way they seemed to get even wider when he focused them on himself, even for just a second.

"Hey," Louis said softly, gently, as if he were talking to a scared kitten, or a tired baby, as he continued dabbing as Curly's wounds, "what's your name?" It was fine calling the boy Curly and Green Eyes and Oh My God He's The Size Of A Mountain in his head, but it'd be weird to do so outloud. Plus, he wanted to know so that he'd have a name to put to the fluttering in his stomach and the tightness in his chest.

 

 

"My name's Harry." Harry mumbled, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Harry Styles."  
"Right out of some romance novel, you are." Louis replied, still tending Harry's wounds. "But at least we're at a first name basis now, considering you're half dressed."

Louis laughed nervously at his own joke and then bolted up to get some bandages, flitting around like a bird in a fit. Harry watched him, his whole body aching. Every movement sent jolts of pain through Harry's back. He shut his eyes again and instantly Louis was back at his side. He leaned down and held Harry's shoulders gently.  
"Hey, Harry, don't fall asleep on me, mate." he said softly. "Stay awake, do you hear me, Harry? You cannot sleep right now. I know you're tired, and I know it hurts, and I know you want to let to, but you can't sleep."  
Harry's eyes flew open again and he stared at Louis in shock. The human looked back at him worriedly, his face scrunched together.  
"What?"

Harry's heart pounded faster than ever before as he felt Louis' eyes lock with his. And he was in so much pain, but suddenly it all went away because Louis _remembered_. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his memories, Louis remembered what Harry had said to him in the hospital, the day of his first, utterly terrifying accident. And Harry smiled a wobbly smile, because maybe he'd managed to do something right, after all.

"Nothing." he replied, shaking his head. "It's nothing."  
"O-Kay. Well, I'm sorry about this Harry, but I've got to get you in a sitting position so I can put these bandages around you." Louis said, sounding matter of fact. But Harry could hear the waver in his voice. He knew how much Louis hated seeing anyone in pain, and how he'd gladly take it upon himself instead.

"Alright." Harry said, trying to lift himself up. His arms dropped out beneath him, too weak to hold him up. But Louis lunged forward and caught him, his face smushed against Harry's head.  
"Hey, take it easy." Louis said soothingly into Harry's hair. "I've got you."

This was wrong. Harry knew that. This went against every thing guardian angels stood for. Their humans were never meant to care for them; they weren't even supposed to know about their existence! But Harry figured he'd already broken so many rules already, and besides, they'd already kicked him out. How much worse could it get, really? So Harry said nothing as Louis put an arm underneath Harry's shoulders and gently eased him upwards, until he was sitting. Louis wormed his way between Harry's body and the headboard of the mattress, sitting in between them.

"I'm gonna put the bandages on now, yeah?" Louis said, his voice small.  
Harry nodded, but then stiffened as pain shot through him again. Louis laid a warm hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles there with his fingertips.  
"Is there anything I can do that would make this experience slightly more pleasant for you?" he asked Harry. Harry turned his head so he could look at Louis. He was gazing up at him, his blue eyes huge and scared. He'd bitten down on his bottom lip so much that it was puffy and swollen. At the sight of him, Harry felt guilt hit him like a freight train. He'd made Louis look like this. He'd made him worried and anxious and scared.

And Harry knew there was one thing that could make all of that disappear for Louis Tomlinson. One thing that cleared his mind and calmed him down and stopped the anxiety from pooling up in his chest.

"Sing for me while you do it."

"Wha-what?" Louis sputtered nervously, his voice higher than normal.

"Sing for me." Harry insisted. "I know you can do it. I know how good you are at it."

"I- well- I'm not very-what do you want me to sing?" Louis said at last and Harry felt slightly better, because he knew Louis was always eager to sing. To himself, to a crowd, to anyone. Louis agreeing meant that his human was okay, and that meant Harry was okay too.

"Doesn't matter. Something you like."

Louis paused as he thought, his hands pressing bandages to the scores of slashes across Harry's back. He hummed something to himself, absentmindedly resting his chin on Harry's shoulder.  
"Okay," he started hesitantly, "It won't be very good, because it's acapella, and I haven't warmed up and you might not even know this song because you don't seem like a mainstream kinda guy and-"  
"Please just start." Harry cut him off, wincing as another bandage was put into place.  
"Right, yeah, okay." Louis stammered. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. Harry didn't need to look at him to know what his expression was: eyes nearly closed with concentration, his mouth open wide to allow more sound, and a hand pressed to his stomach.

 

**_"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you,  
And everything you do, yeah, they were all yellow."_ **

Lou's voice rang out, true and strong and pure. He was a strict tenor, and some people would call his voice raspy, but Harry disagreed. He thought Louis deserved to sing with the Heavenly Choir someday.

**_"I came along, I wrote a song for you,  
And all the things you do, and it was called "Yellow"._ **

Louis's hands were now steady, bandaging Harry skillfully. Their shaking from earlier was gone and they both knew it was because of the music. Louis was massaging Harry's skin to the beat and Harry leaned back against him, feeling comforted.

Comfort.

That was something Harry thought he'd never felt.

**_You're skin, oh yeah you're skin and bones,_  
Turn into something beautiful,  
And you know,  
For you I'd bleed myself dry,  
For you I'd bleed myself dry.**

That lyric seemed strangely appropriate, considering how Louis was hurriedly trying to staunch the blood gushing out of Harry's back. Harry hissed in a breath through his teeth as Louis accidentally grazed one of his cuts with his sleeve and Louis' voice faltered and then died out.  
" _I'm sorry are you okay oh god I'm sorry Harry-"_  
"Keep going." Harry groaned, clenching the duvet of the bed.

" ** _It's true. Look how they shine for you,_  
Look how they shine for you, Look how they shine for,  
Look how they shine for you, Look how they shine for you,  
Look how they shine."**

Harry was finally bandaged. He fully leant back against Louis' chest, exhausted. He threw his reserves to the wind and rested his cheek against Louis' warm shoulder. Louis was rocking him back and forth, awkwardly but gently.

" ** _Look at the stars,  
Look how they shine for you,  
And all the things that you do._** " Louis sang in Harry's ear.

Harry turned his head so they were forehead to forehead, blue eyes meeting green. Harry didn't know who was drowning more. He could feel his pulse in his temples and he reached down to grip Louis' hand to steady himself.

Harry couldn't believe this was real. He couldn't believe he was real. He never thought he'd get to be this close to Louis. So close he could feel his breath blowing across his face and see the tan of his skin and smell his cologne and his shampoo: an intoxicating mixture of apples and pears and goodness, did Harry have a fruit kink or something?

And right then, Harry couldn't find it in himself to care that he'd been thrown out of Heaven. Or that his back was ripped to shreds. Or even that he didn't know if he could fly anymore.  
"You're good?" Louis asked, his voice a whisper.  
Harry reached up and touched Louis' cheek, grazing his fingers across his skin.  
"You can see me."  
"Yes I can, Harry. I think you might be delirious at this point so-"  
"No, no Lou. You can really see me, right? Like really?"  
"Yes, Curly."  
"Good."

Louis slipped out of Harry's grip and helped him lay back down on his bed. He pulled the duvet up to his chin, tucking it in around him. Harry reached up and grabbed Louis's spare hand, clinging to him.  
"Thank you, Louis." he mumbled, his eyes hazy. "Thank you so much."  
Louis' face softened, his blue eyes tired but tender. He leaned over Harry and smoothed his curls off his forehead.  
"You should sleep now." he whispered. "I'll sit here until you fall asleep, if you want."  
Harry nodded and settled down onto the mattress, his bones weary and aching. He curled up on his side and pressed his face into Louis' knee, needing to touch him somehow. To assure himself that they were both physical and alive and _real_.

"I'm sorry about your flowers." Harry muttered sleepily. "I'll plant you more. Better ones, even."  
"Don't worry your head about it. You've had a rough day, with the whole 'falling from the sky' thing."

And then Harry slept, protected by the boy who he'd protected for so long.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking away from Harry Styles made Louis uneasy, like he'd never been more than a few feet away from him; like he had always been close enough to touch. That, of course, was ridiculous, and he knew it- before today, he'd never seen Harry. 

_He hadn't, had he?_

He had to get out of here before Harry woke up again. He had to talk to someone...who could explain people falling from the sky and surviving?

He called Liam and Zayn. 

They'd insisted they meet at a pub, and Louis had insisted it not be the one Sam, or Sven, or whatever his name had been, worked at. Thinking back on it now _Lovely Louis_ wasn't cute at all. Nor was Sven charming.

_His hair was straight and his eyes weren't green._

If he hadn't been such a mess, he'd laugh about Liam and Zayn insisting they meet at a pub. _Just friends, yeah right._ Just friends _begging_ for an excuse to eat each others' faces. 

He was a beer and a half down when Ziam sat down across from him. "Harry Styles ruined my garden," he said immediately, his hands pressed against the table in front of him as if that was the statement that could save or destroy the world. 

"...your garden?" Liam asked while Zayn worked on getting himself thouroughly hammered and ready for later (which Louis did _not_ plan on being around for). 

_"Harry Styles in my garden!"_

"Who?"

"In my garden!"

"I see."

"What am I going to _do?"_ Louis groaned before going through his second and third beer. _God, everything's a mess. What am I supposed to do with Harry? ...I don't even like beer. It's not pink enough. Oh, god, what a travesty._

"...plant a new garden?" Liam suggested. Louis watched one of his hands disappear under the table just a few seconds before Zayn started choking on his drink and wanted to die. _Just come out already._

"This isn't about the _garden_ it's about _Harry,_ " he sighed before getting up to get a martini. Beer tasted like orphan's tears, and there was only enough alcohol in it to get a kitten drunk. Louis was no kitten.

When he sat back down, Liam and Zayn's lips looked red and bitten. Could they not put that on hold til _after_ Louis' crisis?

"Tell us again who Harry is?" Zayn said, sounding slightly out of breath.

"Harry's the boy that fell out of the sky." 

"Right. I follow," Liam said sarcastically. "The boy that fell out of the sky that ruined your garden, but this isn't about the garden it's about the boy that fell out of the sky and ruined your garden. Lou, how long were you drinking before we got here?"

"I'm not _drunk,_ " Lou insisted, "I'm in love with someone who's ruined my garden! And I can't hide seven and a half feet of boy from my mother!"

"We should take him home," Zayn said with a nod, with more suggestion in his voice than concern for his friend. 

"Oh, forget it," Lou muttered. He wasn't in the mood for martinis and someone else's romance. "You two can pick up the tab."

He took his time going home. He and Harry had gotten on just fine when Harry was only half conscious, but they couldn't be like that now, could they? They didn't know each other. For all Louis knew, Harry could be an axe murderer.

_An axe murderer with really, really soft hair._

Oh, god, he was screwed. So, so screwed.

When he got home, Curly was awake. He hadn't left Lou's bedroom, thank god, but he was wide awake and expectant looking. Like a puppy waiting to have his ears scratched. _Son of a bitch, he's adorable._

"How are you feeling?" Louis asked, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. Harry _looked_ better than he had earlier; his skin had more color to it, his eyes were brighter. 

_Is that because he rested or because I'm here_ , Louis asked himself before deciding it had nothing to do with him. He and Harry didn't even know each other.

But Louis had held him like they did, and Harry had listened to him sing like he'd been doing it for years. And it had felt so, so natural. 

"Better," Harry said, his cheeks red and a smile playing at his lips. He looked like he was high, like he had just been out in the cold, like he'd just gotten the best news in the world, like he was wearing extra-green contacts, like Louis Tomlinson standing in front of him was the greatest sight he'd ever seen.

"Harry," he was going to get right down to it, because he couldn't stand the unfamiliar familiarity, he couldn't stand not understanding it, "Have we met before?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter, but it's midterm season! We're sure you all understand XD

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are appreciated :D


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